Hooked on Love Is­land air­heads

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The People - - LIFESTYLE -

MICHELLE Kee­gan had a gun pointed in her face a few times in the re­turn of BBC1 drama Our Girl on Tues­day. As Army medic Ge­orgie Lane, the mil­i­tary’s most gutsy and beau­ti­ful re­cruit, Kee­gan has ce­mented her­self as a gritty TV hero­ine, a far cry from gobby Tina in Corrie four years ago, who we also loved. The episode was jam-packed as Ge­orgie was sent to Nige­ria on a train­ing mis­sion and tried to res­cue school­girls kid­napped by ter­ror­ist group Boko Haram. But she was also emo­tion­ally fraught, miss­ing ex-fi­ancé Elvis. And she wasn’t the only one. Elvis, Luke Pasqualino, died in her arms in the last series and no, I’m not quite over it ei­ther. SHINY, per­fectly fake tanned and by far the most aes­thet­i­cally pleas­ing re­al­ity show on telly, Love Is­land is a per­plex­ing phe­nom­e­non. On the face of it, who re­ally wants to watch a shriek­ing gag­gle of iden­tikit air­heads stress out over a text mes­sage or ponder how soon to have sex with each other? Not me to be hon­est. They barely look like real peo­ple. Ken and Bar­bie dolls maybe. There’s ac­tual ev­i­dence. They don’t seem to sweat, or eat, or have any blem­ish or be ca­pa­ble of hu­man lev­els of in­tel­li­gence. “Are you deep?” “Yeah I’m deep.” “Oh my God, I love a guy that’s deep.” What kind of con­ver­sa­tion is that? Watch­ing this show – purely for professional pur­poses, OK? – I think I can feel my brain cells fad­ing into obliv­ion. It’s aw­ful car crash tele­vi­sion. Noth­ing even re­ally hap­pens. But like study­ing lab rats in a cage, you can’t look away from this dread­ful so­cial ex­per­i­ment.

It was the run­away hit of last sum­mer that got ev­ery­one talk­ing and tweet­ing, and so far this fourth series has pulled in around three mil­lion view­ers a night. That’s stag­ger­ing for ITV2.

Fans are lov­ing it, fran­ti­cally tun­ing in ev­ery sin­gle night. And if you’re not watch­ing you’re a so­cial pariah.

OK, I’ll ad­mit, it is strangely fas­ci­nat­ing. If only to stare in awe at their mar­vel­lous abs and won­der how long their beauty regimes must take. Per­haps at a time of po­lit­i­cal un­rest and fake news, it ful­fils a need for some­thing mind­less. “Ex­cru­ci­at­ing but fun.” That should be the ad slo­gan.

It was all friendly at first when the beau­ti­ful peo­ple met at the Ma­jor­can villa. Caro­line Flack sashayed in, with shiny new en­gage­ment ring for ex­tra smug points.

But then there were cou­plings and re-cou­plings, ridicu­lous chal­lenges, beds ev­ery­where and a per­vad­ing stench of para­noia, jeal­ousy and ego. Who are these plas­tic peo­ple? Why are they happy to stand in a line like cat­tle to be judged?

But they are the In­sta­gram gen­er­a­tion, and this is this quick­est route to fame and wealth.

You can see the lure of so­cial me­dia su­per sta­tus in their sparkly eyes, right un­der the over-plucked brows.

From Dani ‘do you know who my dad is?’ Dyer, to triple-threat Dream­girl Samira and Abs Adam, hugely com­fort­able with his self-awarded five star rat­ing. Do they all have a plan?

Re­mem­ber, this is a game show and one cou­ple will pick up a cheque for £50,000.

Amid the heart­break, the bitch­ing, the fall­ing out, the mak­ing up and the get­ting dumped, the game is be­ing played. Per­haps they are not so brain­less af­ter all?

In the mean­time, some­thing is hap­pen­ing to me. I’m eight hours in and, God I hate my­self for it but I think I’m hooked. DEATH scene of the Friday week was in C4’s Wil­son the Night Din­ner when As his dog kicked the bucket. Jim, Mark Heap, ec­cen­tric owner I think I stood over him weep­ing, in my might have had some­thing the com­edy eye. For­tu­nately to usual swiftly re­turned form with a hi­lar­i­ous RIP farce of a burial. Wil­son.

THERE were many heart­break­ing as sur­vivor sto­ries. Res­cued Clarita in­ter­views in ITV’S doc­u­men­tary Tureet, sum quipit nim ali­quamet, Ghavini re­called: “I was think­ing of my Gren­fell: The First 24 Hours on fam­ily. I can­not be roasted. at, quis alit I can­not die Wed­nes­day. verosti nc­in­cilit dolup­tat, corem veros digna in here.” A year on from Bri­tain’s worst fire do­lore te min­cidunt fac­cum­san­dio Fire­fighter Aldo Diana said: “You’ve since the Blitz, it gave a dis­tress­ing lo­bor acilit con­umsa got heat, smoke, peo­ple in shock, ac­count prae­senim of the dis­as­ter from when it alit ver ndion­se­qui suf­fer­ing burns, in a state of panic.” be­gan aut lan­di­amet on June 14, 2017, through to er­ciduipit lor­per Res­i­dent Sammy Wordy,left, said of a the ac­cummo mo­ment the Lon­don Fire dip­sum sum quis Bri­gade acil­isit scream­ing woman: “I could see her got ipit ing the ea commy blaze un­der nos con­trol 24 hours au­giat. Sum in ute through the win­dow but we were later. pow­er­less to do any­thing. Those There was wit­ness footage that screams will haunt me for­ever.” made you catch your breath, as well A pow­er­ful ac­count of a tragic day.

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